Lethean nodded once, acknowledging Darced's command, then strode forth boldly from the ranks of the Scourge, lifting his left hand into the air, palm open. As he met Darion Morgraine's gaze, he narrowed his eyes and smirked beneath his helm.
"Soldiers of the Scourge!" he called, indicating both death knights and the shambling corpses that he knew would understand, "the time has come to finish what Lord Darced began!" He clenched his hand in to a fist, then gestured forward with Shadowfrost. As one the combined ranks of Scourge soldiers and death knights roared, charging forth towards the Forsaken and Ebon Blade.
Lethean in particular made no move to attack either. Though he was mildly disappointed and angry over Darced's decision, he realized the wisdom of the lich's command. He was the only one - aside from Ian, of course - who knew of the lich's true intentions. Therefore, he had to be the one to personally carry out Darced's wish. Yet, it was almost as if Darced sensed the same thing Lethean did, and had decided the blood elf be the one.
His dark, piercing gaze was focused on a recovering Tirion Fordring, and his intention soon became clear to the others. "Sorry to disappoint the two of you," Lethean muttered, speaking of Morgraine and Sylvanas. "I have more important tasks to carry out . . . "

Ian noticed something appear in the palm of Lethean's hand. Interesting...the thought to himself and when Lethean gave the command to attack he stood patiently by his side. The undead rushed from behind him to clash with the Ebon Blade and Forsaken. The groans and moans of the undead, and the battle cry of the other death knights were overpowering.

"I am to assume there is reason you are not charging with your men, because I know you not a coward." Ian's piercing gaze shifted to the pairing of The Banshee Queen and the Leader of the Ebon Blade. "I am going in..." Ian said calmly and began to walk forward cutting apart all those within the grasp of his blade. "I will stay somewhat close, if you need my assistance give the word."

"Ah... yes. These plague barrels will do nicely. Have the Elites load these onto catapults. They will be in for a nice surprise." Oliver began cackling like a madman. "HooahAhahhHAHaoo! Faranell... you should retreat for now. I will take command of the catapults. Stay in the back and continue mixing more plague barrels. I fear we may have need for many more soon enough. Now... bring the catapults up to the front line and wait Mograine's command!" The Forsaken elites loaded the barrels containing the raging, green liquid onto the catapults without spilling a drop and began pushing the them to the front lines.

Oliver took this moment to reflect on all the events that had happened to him. He was naught but a simple alchemist of some skill only a few years ago... and now. Now he was on the front lines of battle being led by the Dark Lady herself commanding his own battalion of siege weapons. Was this what the bronze meant all those years ago? Is this the moment I was destined for? Back then, when he had red blood and flesh that was not rotten, he thought that fateful day to be a dream. A bronze speaking to him? No way! But now that he had become much stronger and respected by his colleagues, he began to think that it was no mere dream. Oliver gathered his mixing tools and stuffed them quickly into his satchel and instinctively clutched his leather pouch. It glowed a soft blue color, and Oliver knew it was time to act.

"We have all been cursed by this force you see here! We are the peoples who have sworn vengeance against the Scourge! United, the Lich King will fall. And this time forever!" Darion's words were replied with battle cries coming from the Ebon Knights and from the Forsaken alike. They all had a bone to pick with The Lich King and his Scourge invaders. It was a common bond they all shared and it united them against all odds. The resounding battle cry ended with the Forsaken Elite and Death Knights of the Ebon Blade advancing upon the skeletal warriors approaching. "Now!! Fire the barrels into the left and right flanks. Keep it away from our friends. Fire!!!!" The catapults lurched backwards as the heavy wooden barrels were sent flying into the air. The skilled Elites aimed the caustic liquid expertly and they were able to take out large portions of the enemy flanks. The first barrel landed squarely onto an Abomination and exploded on contact. The green, bubbling liquid inside began to melt flesh and bone and saronite armor alike in an instant. The area of effect was quite small, but the result was satisfying. Oliver strayed a thought I wonder what effect a bigger container being dropped from a zeplin would be like.... Oliver quickly jotted some notes down into his journal and began preparing the next plague wave. "Keep attacking the flanks! The foot-soldiers can hold the center. Hold fire until my command............ FIRE!!"

------------------------------------

All around him was a nightmare. Friends transforming before his very eyes; the pillar of dark energy enveloping the greyed human; the cries of women and children praying to the Light to save them. In all of the darkness, the Captain noticed the dwarf appear nearby and heal the wounded man he discovered was named Aldean. He was like a beacon in the dark; a lighthouse in the dead of night keeping safe those around him. His entire platoon had been wiped out and there were fewer survivors than he had hoped for. "We need to regroup somehow!" Moments after saying that, Forsaken warriors rapelled from the sky and a gunship attacks the demon and nearby Scourge. Sargeras? Scourge? And now more Forsaken? Well if they're here to help than I won't turn them away. Sargeras is a bigger threat than any amount of Undead heathons.

"Solidiers of the Hand! Assist our new allies. Fight as one and together we may see this day won!!" The Captain picks up his poleaxe and infuses it with holy energy. He looks to both Aldean and the dwarf priest "We're gonna need help from both of you too if we want to make it out alive." The Captain grins with bloodlust and charges into the nearest group of hellspawn the demon began to summon.

The catapults fired on command and the soldiers held their ground, as directed by Mograine. "Stand firm! Let the Scourge come to us!" The Forsaken officers nodded in agreement and waved their warriors to assume defensive positions. We cannot let them reach Fordring, he must stay safe.

Sylvanas grinned as the bomb ticked along; anticipating the tick that would trigger the Highlord's death. He layed on the ground, motionless and stared towards the corpse of Darced. Darced! Light save him!

The bomb stopped ticking and Sylvanas looked in shock. The alchemists scratched their heads and approached the device. "Lady Sylvanas, it seems we have a dud." She growled, "Very well, I'll deal with him myself." Damnit Lethean! I can't play poltergeist all day! Daced's spirit watched helplessly as the Banshee Queen apporached Tirion Fordring. "It's over Highlord."

((Just something to help move us along. Don't worry guys, the RP will conclude soon.))

Ralof was simply stunned. He could not move an inch. He was totally confused at what was transpiring right in front of him. First, they seemed to be supporting crusaders, and trying to lift the siege. Then, Mograine killed the Lich, which marked their victory. Right after that, he caught glimpse of Tirion Fordring being rescued, which seemed to be the goal of Banshee Queen and High Lord. But in a twist of events, now Sylvanas seemed to try to kill Tirion, and Scourge was tryintg to reach him, to whatever end Ralof could not make of? Why would they take him prisoner at first? Why would Forsaken and Ebon Blade release him, just to kill him anyways? And now, Tirion's former captors were desperately throwing themselves upon the shieldwall of forsaken and deathkinght ranks. With all the plague stuff being thrown upon, and keep still under effect of that strange dark magic, he was totally puzzled. "Holy shit! What do i do now? Who do i side with? What the hell will i do?" he mumbled as he looked in total confusion. Upon giving a quick look, he realised that Lord Fordring was the only human being he knew at that field at that moment, and he knew him to be a hero. A real person with deeds and a reliable past. After many years that rest of the world forgotten Lordaeron, he was the one to return from his long crusade to cleanse this land of the taint. He was a good man, and definitely a very good one to not to deserve a faith (which probably would be worse than death) at the hands of the very murderer Ralof hated most. In a split second he made his mind.

He let out a very sharp whistle, which summoned his trusty fast-as-lightning steed right beside him in a moment. He jumped over his beloved Bolt Noir, a highlander mustang that would outrun any foe whatsoever. He galloped the beast towards Windrunner and unsheated his shotgun. Moving his hand a few seconds in his right side pocket, he found what he was looking for and loaded his shotgun with the cartridge. His horse rode like the wind and it jumped over a band of elite guard that was holding the rear of the Dark Lady. Right before she could turn around and see him coming, he fired his shotgun. Sylvanas ducked sideways and unsheated her bow while rolling, easily evading the shot and ready to pierce the heart of the over-confident human rider. But Ralof's gas canister hit the ground as he planned, and immediately let out a thick layer of gas cloud to his surroundings. In a split second Ralof reached low to the right side of his horse and grabbed the neutralised paladin from ground, riding without pausing. He galloped as he saw a few arrows passing over his head as some forsaken deathguards unloaded their crossbows, but confident that the only marksman that could shot him would still be in of the layer cloud for a few seconds more, he rode straight towards the hill that overlooked the battlefield, sure of that he would not be shot in the back before running out of bows' reach. Tirion coughed a few times as fresh air filled his lungs and Ralof asked him gently "Lord Fordring, are you alright?".

-------------------

Poor Grimgor squated down like he was trying to hide from the pleas of the wounded. There were simply too many for him to handle. In every corner of the courtyard someone was crying and someone was dying. He crouched down and held his head between his hands, like trying to block his ears. But he was still hearing them. Hellspawn was pouring out of the black monstrosity that was growing bigger by each moment, and he was helplessly sitting there. There were no bandages, no poultices, not even herbs. He was channeling light magic on a wound just to lose the patient to internal bleeding or pestilence. There were little carrion worms creeping around and crows circling the air above the courtyard, to feed on the fallen. It was a total nightmare for a compassionate and kind soul like him, to be at a battlefield filled with people he could not save. That burden fell heavily on his heart and he simply cowered there, wishing none of that happened and no one around him died. He wished nothing they had lived there to be real at all. But it was. And it was eating away in his mind.

He started even hearing whispers in his mind. Yes, that man in the darkness was whispering to him now. Grimgor closed his eyes in fear, but he was so bright! A Grey figure covered his mind and talked to him. He called for him. "Join us." could hear Grimgor, like a friendly invitation for a beer at Golden Keg inn. It spoke of glory and flames, like it was an honor to be burned or stuff like that. Much of it Grimgor could not understand, partially because he was slow, and partially because he knew nothing of glory or honor. He was taught of duty, compassion and respect. These were the values he was trained to hold high. Man in grey started to grow angry. Threats of death and destruction followed. Grimgor cowered further down on the ground, like he was trying to defend himself from his former masters.. Then an image of Brother Sona flashed in his mind. "In this world we live in, there are moments that life turns into a living nightmare. When your darkest hour wakes, remember the tune we teach you here. It is a hymn of hope, courage and faith, and it shall guide you in the darknass you face."..

Spelling the sacred words for fear protection, Grimgor felt his courage returning to him, dismissing doubt and fear from his heart and his thoughts. He knew what he had to do, what he had to prove.. Yes, there may have been corrupt followers of the light, those who tried to bend it to their will, those who would turn their backs to it, those who tried to use it to fullfill their foul wishes, those who would try to destroy it... But as there were many like those, there were also faithfull followers of the Light. There were those that believed in it, and let it flow through themselves. There were good people like Grimgor that followed it blindly, and were protected solely by it. And still, maybe their numbers were few, but he knew that.. "A single light is enough.." he murmured as he rose up with eyes flared with holy light, and said ".. to pierce the darkest of darkness.".

At that moment Grimgor knew what had to be done, and he knew it had to be him. He rose his arms to the air, standing near the mid of the courtyard, facing directly the dark column of energy that flowed throught the air which conqured more and more demons by the minute. He started yelling his Hymn of Hope, begining with "I AM THE LIGHT!... IN THE DARKNESS!... I AM THE ONE!... UPON MANY!..." and by each word, a spout of holy light blowed out of his palms, springing the entire courtyard, channeling healing holy energies towards the wounded and the weak. It grew stronger and stronger, and holy flames emaneted from his eyes and covered his entire body. He started floating above the ground, slowly levitating upwards as he channeled. He reached a deeper state of conciousness, totally tapping into his inner self to focus even more. His body grew lighter and lighter, and his glow grew stronger and stronger. He reached a moment of inner focus that he could see the souls of the dead around him flying. He could feel the power of the ground they were on, of all the people that fought and died here. Even he could not control the amount of energy that was bursting out of his heart at that point, so he simply stopped trying to control it and let it flow out. A huge column of holy light formed, much similar to the one in Shattrat City, and while it was much smaller in size compared to the dark one, it started challenging Sargeras' dark force. Grimgor knew that his powers would merely slow his adversary down for just only a small amount of time, but he was willing to do what he could againts him and his demonic servants.

Glow of light that filled the courtyard filled the people of good will with joy. It rejuveneted the worn out warriors, healed even the most severely injured ones, and it sent demons scattered. They hided behind their master's shadow. Renewed by the Light and reinforced by the rapelling warriors, remaining forces started pushing back the demons once and for all.

Oliver was talking to the alchemists while preparing the plague barrels and was well aware by now through the grape vine that Sylvannas had planned on killing the paladin legend. He had been talking as if Dacred were a necessary evil and that killing him was the gravest mistake the allied forces could have done. She had had enough of his babbling and decided to take her chance at destroying Fordring outright. If that is my lady's wish than I support her fully. He has been a Scourge against my people for too long and his subordinates revel in killing my fellow Forsaken. If it is his time to die than so be it. Oliver continued to command the plague catapults and had successfully created a funnel in which the Elites and Deathknights could form a tight defensive position.

Suddenly Oliver noticed a blur to his right. Streaking past Elite guards and Forsaken Abominations, he saw the crazy man he came to know as Wyrmslayer Thor. He looked on as he deftly weaved in between death knights on a quick paced beast. Where is he going? His skills could be better utilized in the front lines. Oliver kept watch when he suddenly changed direction and headed straight for the Dark Lady herseld unsheathing his shotgun. Oliver was immediately filled with fear and hate. How could I have been so stupid?! To bring a human here? Especially one as powerful as he. A cloud of gas exploded around her and when next Oliver could see Fordring was gone! Elite guards gave chase and Sylvannas wailed in anger. "Stop him! Do NOT let him take Fordring away. I will do to him what must be done. Go!" The hunt began but Oliver could already tell he was long gone.

"Are you Alchemist Oliver Ogleton?" A deathknight he didn't notice approached him followed in toe by two Deathguards. "What if I am?" "You need to come with us... now." A deathknight took command of the catapults and Oliver was handed over to the Deathguards and taken into a makeshift cell. His satchel was taken from him but his leather pouch was cleverly hidden within his robes and could not be confiscated. A robed Forsaken approaches him and asks, "Who is that man? We saw you come with him and now he has taken a precious prisoner from us. You know the punishment for treason and if we do not get answers you will suffer the consequences. Again... who is that man?". "I don't know who he is. He slayed the Frostwyrm and was fighting the Scourge. He asked for transport to this side of the battlefield and I thought nothing of it. That is all I know." Oliver was beginning to feel fear again. He knew what could happen to him. Certainly death was an easy option, but for what had happened there was probably a more severe outcome for him. Torture... experimentation... slavery... exile. "Please you have to believe me. I'd give my life for the Forsaken and most of all the Dark Lady herself!! Let me go! I must assist in his capture. I swear I will do all in my power to bring him to justice." "It is not that easy alchemist. I do believe what you say but it is not my decision. You did this to yourself teaming with a human." The hooded Forsaken walks away leaving Oliver to himself. That bastard will pay dearly! Getting me put in here and attacking her! He will wish that an arrow had pierced his heart. I won't kill him. No... I will make him suffer though. Oliver began audibly laughing which the turned the heads of a few of the allied forces. Just when I thought I was on top of the world... who can't find the humor in that?

---------------

That dwarf... he truly is a beacon of hope. The Captain bowed his head in respect and said a quick prayer. He then turned his attention to the demonspawn and charged his poleaxe again with holy power. "Crusaders! On me! Reform the phalanx and push. Hraghhh!!" The suddenly rejuvenated and reinvigorated paladins lined up and thrusted their spears forwards. They began inching their way forward towards the portal summoning the demons. "Keep moving forward. We must try to stop them from advancing further." All around the deadly formation, Void Terrors and Doomguards were being slaughtered. Floating Eyes were attacking from above, but the Forsaken coming from the gunship shot them down with ease. Through the portal they saw something that terrified them. Their was a legion of Pit Lords, Infernals, and Imps awaiting their turn to come in. "There! Wash away your fears and bolster your minds. We must not allow them through the portal. We will stop them here. No demons will make it past this line! For the Hand! For Azeroth! For the Light!!!!!!!" The Captain took his poleaxe and drew a line in the sand just in front of the portal. The phalanx stopped there and held their ground. This is it. There is no way around this. This is the moment I was meant for. Keeping these demons at bay while the other heros of Azeroth defeat Sargeras.... The demons came and the defenders rallied.

Though it did not hinder his advance in the slightest, Lethean did catch an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach as he watched Sylvanas approach Tirion Fordring. What the hell is she doing? he thought madly. Had their goal not been to rescue the Highlord? What was the Banshee Queen doing? Betraying her own people?
Lethean shook his head, growling softly as the flames engulfing Shadowfrost crackled, growing in both size and vibrancy. No matter, the blood elf thought, nearing his enemy. My task was to save Highlord Fordring. Lord Darced did not wish me to take on the Banshee Queen, but if it is what I must do... then I shall do it, and take great pleasure in doing so.
"Sylvanas Windrunner!" he cried, approaching her steadily. The Banshee Queen paused, her movements fluid and graceful as she turned to face Darced's champion. "How wonderful it is to see you!"
"I must admit," he continued, still walking towards her, albeit more slowly than before. "I'm unsure as to what exactly it is you're doing. If I remember correctly, you were just supporting the Argent Crusade and their pathetic little "last stand" attempt." He growled in a lower tone, all pleasantry gone. "Yet here I see you, moving to attack the Highlord himself? When will you realize, Sylvanas?" Lethean shook his head and gripped Shadowfrost with both hands. "All your efforts, regardless of the motives they support, are for naught!"
Lethean smirked underneath his helm as he saw the Banshee Queen's skeptical look. "Yes, I, Champion of the Damncaller, Scourgelord and death knight, will face the mighty "Dark Lady" alone. You think you instill fear in to the hearts of your enemies, Sylvanas? You think your sad little army of renegade "forsaken" are a force to be reckoned with?" Lethean laughed as an expression of fury crossed the Banshee Queen's pale face. "Haven't you heard, Windrunner? We dead possess no such hearts... no such fear!"

Velirra nocked another arrow, quickly taking aim and putting yet another of Darced's minions to rest - true rest. The blood elf huntress spared a quick moment to take in what was going on around her, and was swiftly dismayed to find that the so-called "Scourgelord" had already made it to Highlord Tirion Fordring. What shocked her more, however, was the fact that the Banshee Queen herself, Sylvanas Windrunner, had moved in to a position that gave her an easy kill; her target being none other than Fordring himself.
Despite the chaos around her, Velirra froze, her eyes glued to the scene transpiring before her. What is Sylvanas doing? Velirra wondered to herself. She was startled from her reprieve as a ghoul leapt at her, uttering guttural noises, its clawed hands raised to slash at her throat. With no time to draw an arrow, Velirra knew that she would also be unable to effectively throw herself out of the ghoul's path. She braced herself for the inevitable strike, but was surprised when she heard squawking, the sound of wings fluttering and the patter of blood on the ground, mixed with the wet-sounding roar from her would-be killer.
Velirra opened her emerald eyes and lifted her gaze, and saw that her foe had been shredded to pieces. An explosion resonated from behind her, and Velirra turned to see Emberfire - who had saved her life yet again - loose a jet of fire from her mouth. Her beak closed, and the huge crimson dragonhawk took off again, leaving behind the charred remains of her adversary.
Turning back to her more-imminent problems, Velirra nocked an arrow, the tip of which glowed a dark cyan, and took aim. Surprise.

Sylvanas stared onward as the death knight continued his taunts. Champion of the Damncaller? She looks to her feet and realizes the Highlord is his target. She looks back to the blood elf, his eyes glew brightly and his sword swirled with an inferno of fire. She watched as he approached, and listened patiently as he told her of the Forsaken. Keep talking death knight... Lethean's helmet boomed insults and boons of pride; but as he spoke Sylvanas' dark rangers were getting into position around him in the forests, unknown to anyone. "You like to talk death knight. Perhaps then you should have taken me by surprise." She raises her bow and aims it towards the Highlord, who is still panting after his encounter with Ralof. "For it is too late." She fires her arrow, and it pierces Fordring's chest, "If you think we are so weak, wait unitl the Highlord has joined our ranks! Agatha!" The valk'yr appears once more and approaches the paladin who is struggling, bleeding uncontrollably. "It's over, 'champion.' "

Fear not death knight, he is far more resilient than she realizes. Engage the Banshee Queen, lest Mograine soon join us as well. Destroy her in the name of the Scourge!

((Ok, is anyone confused about what is going on? I kinda feel like this RP may be getting confusing. If that's the case, here's a quick review:

Sylvanas, in light of Tirion Fordring believing Darced is a hero, decides that the Highlord has been turned as hopes to bring him under her influence instead. Of course she is mistaken, but this is a fair Forsaken solution I think.

Sargeras has appeared in mortal guise through Causis of the Grey (Or white) and is currently attacking Tyr's Hand. Grey soldiers from both the Forsaken and Stormwind are reinforcing the survivors. Argent crusaders have been twisted into demonic puppets and Forsaken are on the way from War of the Greys: Alterac

Finally, Scourge forces are attacking a combined line of death knights and Forsaken (Un-corrupted) in an attempt to fufill Darced's commands; save Fordring. This will be revealed later.

So, hopefully this will answer any questions regarding current events. If not, feel free to ask. Oh, and finally, how are we so popular???? 20,000 views??? Dear god, that's cool. Thanks for viewing everyone! And feel free to join any of my RPs, become a part of the stories you know and love :P))

(( That's the first RP i engaged in and despite the fact that i am a total noob, i must comment on 'how we are so popular' topic. Man, it is so much fun to do this! The twist of events is so dramatic, sometimes even i don't know what to do next. Our story is quite intriguing and interesting, we are going OP mode sometimes but as this is an alternate universe, nothing stops us I wish Chonar and Knep would still be around to this point but our new fellows never let us feel their absence nonetheless. All in all, i truly enjoy reading you guys so keep up the good work! We are almost done anyways. ))

Ralof's eyes widened and a short shriek bursted out of his mouth. "Impossible!" he murmured as he looked down at the arrow that pierced his right side. It came right through Fordring who was riding behind him. Old paladin simply fell off the horse without muttering even a single word, and Ralof was shocked to be shot at this distance. It was not possible to be shot by anything at that distance, or so he thought, underestimating the skills of the Dark Lady. And now he was paying dearly for his hasty plan. "Dammit.." he murmured as blood poured out of his mouth. He knew he had little time left with a wound like this and that he would die in mere moments.. His eyes darkened and he collapsed on Noir's neck.

Next time he opened his eyes, he felt that it was an eternity later, but he was passed out for only a couple of minutes actually. He was in the courtyard of Tyr's Hand. His beloved horse was standing right next to him, licking his boots. He tried to lift himself, and as he looked forward, a blinding light filled his sights. He covered his eyes with his arm and took support from the other to sit where he was lying. A few moments later he remembered that he was fatally shot mere minutes ago. His hand unintentionally searched his right side, looking for his wound among his bloodied leather jacket and silk shirt, but strangely he could not find a wound. He was perfectly fine. There was a indistinct scratch, and that was it. There was a hole on his jacket and shirt where arrow went in and out, but would seemed to be healed by that glowing sprout of holy light. Narrowing his eyes, he saw a small shade hoovering right in the center of the column of light, and it took a few minutes for Ralof to realise that he was a dwarven priest. "I guess i owe that priest my life then." he murmured, happy to be alive. "I will definitely thank him and make sure his efforts would not go un-rewarded." he vowed, then looked around to assess the situation. Argents were still holding their phalanx against the demon portal, and now he could see Sargeras and his minions pouring around. "What the hell happened here? By the name of Ancient Kings.." he looked in awe at the scenery. He stood up and checked his gear. Everything seemed alright. He gently patted his horse, noble animal kindly bowed his head to recieve the lovely touch of his master. "You saved me yet another time good friend." said Ralof, and Bolt Noir let out an excited whinny. "Now, i will not let the murder of Lord Fordring go unpunished. To the hell with forsaken and their treachery! This will not stand. I will blow her head off this time, once and for all." he cried and mounted up.

Lethean froze as Sylvanas nocked her arrow and fired. The bolt caught Fordring unawares, and the paladin fell, blood spurting from the wound. At Sylvanas's call, some of her minions came to remove the bleeding paladin for whatever hideous purpose she had in mind.
Despite this, Lethean laughed, hunching his shoulders as he took his stance. "Over? Why, my lovely Sylvanas, it has only begun!"
Darced's words floated through his head; the command to attack, assurances that Fordring would survive. He opened his mind to Darced's, so that the lich could read his thoughts. Free to act, the death knight charged, Shadowfrost's blazing edge flying towards Sylvanas's neck.
He had, however, underestimated the Banshee Queen's reflexes. The once-ranger general of Silvermoon nimbly dodged his runeblade, a deadly, curved shortsword appearing in her hand. Where the hell did she get that from? Even as the thought passed through his mind, Sylvanas snuck up under his guard, driving the sword in to his gut. Crying out in pain, the Scourgelord lashed out with a fist, the gauntlet's spiked nuckles catching Sylvanas in the chest. Knocked clean off her feet, the Banshee Queen was forced to release her grip on the sword lodged inside of him.
Lowering Shadowfrost, Lethean grasped the shortsword and slowly pulled it out of himself. Blood and ichor trailed the sword's tip. He could already tell the bleeding on the inside was severe. However, what she does not know is that we, unlike her, are much more formidable opponents.
He gripped Shadowfrost with both hands as Sylvanas quickly recovered, four bloody lines running down her chest from where he struck. He reached in to his runeblade, seeking the life force stored there, and dove in to the pool of energy, swiftly healing himself of his wounds with the now-unholy energy. Grinning fiercely beneath his helm, Lethean locked gazes with Sylvanas, only to find that she had retrieved her bow, and now trained a nocked arrow on his throat. Though it was protected by a gorget, the Scourgelord held no doubts that this arrow would pierce the plate without effort.
"I underestimated you, Banshee Queen," he said, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to be still even as he looked for a way out to avoid true death. "I will make sure to not do so a second time."
Sylvanas laughed, though her expression was still determined. The laugh held no humour in it; only a fierce desire for vengeance. "What? You were expecting less? I served as a ranger for decades before the fall of Quel'Thalas at the hands of your kind, death knight. For all your supposed power and savagery, you merely strike me as an incompetent and arrogant fool who serves one more foolish than himself."
All the while Lethean kept searching, and found it as the Banshee Queen spoke. Her words were confident and held an air to them that seemed... finalizing. And yet, while she spoke, her tense posture eased, her alertness growing lax. Seeing the opening with sharpened vision, he gestured with his left hand, muttering words in the Scourge tongue. A dark tendril of unholy energy shot towards Sylvanas. Again she dodged it, but in doing so released her aim on Lethean, allowing the Scourgelord to charge forward. Shadowfrost's flaming edge sang as it flew towards Sylvanas, who was occupied with swiftly checking her movements. Lethean felt the jarred impact as Shadowfrost bit deep in to the earth; Sylvanas had managed to roll out of the way just before the cut had landed, and was now rising and moving towards him, a dagger held tightly in her fist.
"You vex me to no end, Banshee Queen!" he roared, ripping his runeblade from the ground through sheer brute strength and swinging it in an arc, narrowly missing Sylvanas's throat. She danced back, the dagger still held in her hand, and smirked with true - if slight - amusement.
"Another uttered words akin to yours years ago," she snarled, pale lips curving upward. "Arthas Menethil thought the same of me. I suppose it's merely an effect I seem to have on you death knights."
Lethean paused, mulling over her words, then cursed himself for the distraction as Sylvanas lunged, the tip of her dagger shooting towards his thigh. Why try to disable me? he thought, preparing for the strike. Why would she want me alive?
He narrowed his azure eyes, bringing Shadowfrost's hilt in an uppercut. Sylvanas dodged it gracefully, plunging the dagger on her mark. Lethean cried out in pain as the five-inch long blade embedded itself in to his body, somehow cutting through his plate armour with ease. He lifted his left hand, shadowy magic enveloping the gauntleted fist, and clenched it. A sudden blast struck Sylvanas, but instead of knocking her back, it lifted her up in to the air, following Lethean's hand as he, too, lifted it.
"It seems that you, my lovely Sylvanas, have underestimated me," he growled, releasing Shadowfrost. The flaming runeblade kept itself aloft as Lethean ripped the dagger from his leg and, once again utilizing his abilities, froze his blood cold. Straightening, his left hand still clenched in a fist, he plucked Shadowfrost from the air and raised his gaze to his trapped adversary. "You once struck me as a cunning, vicious ruler, bent on vengeance but sane enough to take matters cautiously. But, in some ways, you are merely a naive little bitch who thinks she is unfallible." He shook his head. "Such foolishness has earned you nothing, as you can likely very well tell by now."
His spell prevented Sylvanas from speaking, but the glare of pure hatred and fury that she gave him told him enough: he was a marked target, and he knew it. He eyed Sylvanas's escaping minions, who still held possession of Fordring's body, and narrowed his eyes. Opening his mind again, he sought out one he knew capable enough to carry out his orders. Ian, he said, touching the acolyte's consciousness. Wherever you may be at the moment, I require your aid. I will explain more when you get here. Hurry!

Ian heard Lethean call out, and immediately dispatched the enemy he was engaged in. He launched to deathcoils at the forsaken blocking the path to Lethean, and watched as the dark energy ripped their faces apart. He pushed forward and all those that attempted to stop him were cut down almost instantly. Ian death gripped another into a spinning back fist, armored gauntlet and all. He came across the door finally and delivered a kick auguement with unholy energy to blow it off its hinges He was reaping their energy as he pushed forward more and more until he was there, standing before Lethean and Sylvanas.

He impaled one last deathguard and raised him with a single arm on the end his katana, looking at his face from behind his armored helmet. "Turns out, even in undeath, I still loathe you Forsaken..." Ian flicked him off the end of his blade as if he was nothing. He sized up the situation, Lethean looked somewhat wounded but nothing fatal, at least from what he could tell...

Lethean tilted his head slightly in Ian's direction, swiftly acknowledging the acolyte's presence. In truth, Lethean was pleased the human had answered his call so quickly. The less time they spent twiddling their thumbs, the sooner they could retrieve Fordring. "I did," he replied in even tones, not looking at Sylvanas. He gestured with Shadowfrost, pointing out the Banshee Queen's soldiers whom had stolen Fordring's almost-lifeless body. "You know Lord Darced's commands just as well as I do, acolyte," he continued. "Make sure the highlord survives his... ordeal. Do whatever it takes-"
A sudden shift in the magical link between he and Sylvanas cut him short. The Banshee Queen taken to her incorporeal form temporarily, rendering her body little more than a lifeless husk. The severed link between souls caused his magic to wear off and her body to drop to the ground with a thud. Instantly alert, Lethean held Shadowfrost with both hands out in front of him, wearily searching for any sign of Sylvanas.
"Damn it!" he snapped, startling Ian. "How could I have been so caught up as to forget she was a damned banshee?!"
"The answer is simple, 'champion,'" a hollow, eerie and most definitely feminine voice echoed amusingly. "This so-called "arrogance" that I seem to possess can be found in you, as well - albeit in much larger quantities," Sylvanas chuckled, and the sheer hollowness of the sound caused even he to shiver. "And in that arrogance, you have entirely forgotten what exactly it is you fight against..."
Lethean turned to Ian and barked, "Go! Find the highlord and see him safely to me!" Without waiting a second longer he turned his gaze back to Sylvanas's body, which was now fully animated and standing smugly, her shortsword in one hand and her dagger in the other. Snarling, Lethean raised Shadowfrost, narrowing his eyes.
"It's a nice trick, I'll give you that," the Scourgelord grudgingly admitted, "but I won't fall for it twice. You seem to have a knack for escaping death."
"Hardly," the Banshee Queen laughed again. "If that were so, I would not have fallen to the Lich King. A pity, I suppose, seeing as how it would have changed much of what is now the present... including your own timely demise."

From behind his prison cell, Oliver saw everything. He saw Thor take an arrow to the side while losing hold of Fordring. He saw the damned deathknight Lethean tear through friend and foe alike in an attempt to take out the Dark Lady. He saw his willing pawn Ian join him and easily taking down Forsaken after Forsaken. Those bastards! They dare attack the Dark Lady themselves? Two deathknights against the leader of the Forsaken.... are they that dimwitted or is there something up their sleeves? I have to get out of here. Oliver looked up and the guards around his cage had gone leaving his satchel on a nearby stool... they probably taken down by Ian on his way to his master. Luckily, the two of them had not noticed him as a sitting duck. Oliver scrambled within his cage and found only dirt and a small bowl of water.

Oliver pulled out his leather pouch and gripped it tightly. This will put a lot of strain on my stone, but I must get out of here and assist her. The pouch glowed a bright blue and Oliver put it close to the water bowl and watched as it began to boil furiously. Adding the dirt into the bubbling water created a reaction he had expected. The acidity within the dirt was enhanced by his stone it turned the innocuous water into a weak acid. He poured it slowly onto the bars and was able to escape. Oliver ran to the stool they had set his satchel on and continued towards the fighting. He rummaged through it until he found another growth potion and took a long swig. His body began to grow and he picked up to greatswords while he was moving. These death knights will pay. The Wyrmslayer will pay. The Scourge will pay.He repeated these lines in his head multiple times as he made his way slowly across the battlefield.

He never had much training with weapons, but in the last day or so had gotten used to wielding them with some finesse. His bulked form was more than strong enough to use the blades to their fullest and Oliver did just that. He swung left and took out a gheist. He swung right knocked off the head of a skeletal mage. Oliver kept a steady pace taking out ghouls and skeletal soldiers with only one goal in mind: help Sylvannas. As he neared, Oliver noticed a few dried blood stains on her but a gaping wound on Lethean. Oliver began to laugh in delight at his pain he must've felt. He raised both blades towards Lethean and began to charge him. "Come 'Scourgelord'. Let us see what the lich had empowered you with today!" Oliver said with much contempt. He was still dumbfounded that these two would willingly attack her within her own ranks. Oliver swung the blades in a downward arc in front of Lethean. He dodge easliy and the earth beneath erupted in a geyser of dirt and grass. This won't do much, but maybe it will give Sylvannas the opening she needs.

Ian nodded and acknowledged Lethean, then preceded to take off running after the Highlord. He saw a Forsaken not like the rest bust into the fray and nearly take Lethean out. He wanted to stay back and even the odds, however he had his orders. He began closing the distance between the Banshee Queens minions and himself. He bolted towards them only to watch two of them break off the formation to engage him. He blocked the first blow but caught a glancing blow off the second ones stout two handed mace. It doubled Ian over momentarily however, he was back on his feet. That bitch wouldn't have trusted any deathguard to this task...these are her A team. Ian knew it was now or never, he channeled his runic energy through his blade to channel another one, free floating, next to his in the same likeness as his.

"Dancing rune weapon!" Ian cried out and began his now two pronged assault immediately over powering the first deathguard. The one with the mace came back for a second swing but this time Ian was ready, he fell to his back under the the mace and from the ground cut up and across. He took off the end of his mighty hammer, while the dancing rune weapon, mimicking his moves cut clean through his opponents wrist.

Ian sprung back up and placed his hand on the hand less deathguard's face and whispered "Die..." as a blast of runic power removed the Forsaken from the picture. The blast caught the attention of the rest of the convoy with the Highlord and spun to face Ian. Well I suppose I have faced worse odds... Ian placed one hand on his blade and with his other hand made a mocking "bring it" motion, it seems as though, even for a second Ian felt a little bit of his old self come out.

Lethean was truly surprised that this... alchemist would dare attack him, all on his own. By the looks of it, the forsaken was not all too skilled with weapons, indicated by the clumsy way he handled them. Nevertheless, enhanced as he was, the forsaken still posed a threat to the Scourgelord. Worse, a distraction such as this would likely be all Sylvanas needed to finish him off. Wounded in numerous places, his runeblade drained of its unholy power and his own strength beginning to diminish, Lethean knew he would have to resort to his 'ace in the hole' inevitably.No matter, the death knight thought to himself, dodging the massive, transformed forsaken's strike easily, despite his grave wounds. The ground exploded in a spray of dirt behind him as he rose from his roll swiftly, turning to face this new enemy. The forsaken alchemist, though untrained, had a few advantages on the Scourgelord.
"Taunt me all you like, forsaken scum," he snapped, gripping Shadowfrost tightly. Though his eyes still emitted a soft crimson glow and the warmth still flowed through his body, the flames that previously crackled along Shadowfrost's length had died away, leaving a dark, rune-inscribed blade smeared with a mixture of blood and ichor. The runes themselves still shimmered brightly, and this caused Lethean's faint hopes to rise. Perhaps all is not lost just yet. Perhaps... Brandishing Shadowfrost in a way that clearly indicated his skill with the weapon, the Scourgelord narrowed his eyes, though he grinned beneath the demonic helm that protected his head. "Come, then, forsaken. You value your queen's life so much? I dearly hope you're willing to die for it." Inside, Lethean prayed to whatever gods may exist that Sylvanas had become preoccupied - even if momentarily - with Ian's attack on her deathguard elites.
Hopefully.

Sylvanas stared onward towards the two death knights and began to knock the time-warp arrows she has used on Darced earlier. Without hesitation and with her Forsaken around her she began to fire towards the Scourge knights. Bubbles of violet began to engulf the nearby woodlands and time was slowed to great effect, allowing her and the alchemists to proceed with the fight. Fordring still layed on the ground, but for now it seemed the Banshee Queen had forgotten about him; about her schemes.

The Scourge charged headlong into the ranks of Forsaken and death knights,; guided by a phantom will who had assumed command in Lethean's absence. Go my warriors! The Lich King demands it! The specter watched from the forest's lining and commands the army using what magic he had left. Unless I am revived soon, I will fade... Abominations crash into Highlord Mograine and Darced nods, signaling an attack. Ghouls pour around the death knight, and his warriors are helpless to aid him. Perhaps then, for a more conventional approach? The masses of flesh literally crash over Mograine and he screams, bursting a green spell that rips the abominations apart. Darced frowns as his plan is foiled before it began. Hmm, if I could occupy a weaker body? Perhaps then, I will last long enough... The lich's ghostly form scans the battlefield for any participants, preferably living, but barely. A temporary vessel would be superb, someone with enough weight to carry out the Lich King's will. Someone in a position to command troops, living soldiers... The phantom ponders as who will be he vessel. It matters not, until Fordring resurrects my physical form... The lich grins, Who ever said it had to be mine? I could acquire a new, permanent body, yes...!

Sylvanas approaches Lethean and Ian, who've been slowed for a time. "Pathetic. This is the legacy Darced left behind? The Scourge is nothing without a pet lich!" She prepares another arrow, aiming it at Lethean's chest, "Goodbye." She fires, and the projectile flies toward the death knight and penetrates the bubble within fractions of a second. Fear not death knight... The amulet on Lethean's person begins to glow an illuminous violet, much like the barriers around him. The arrows slow to a crawl and Lethean is freed from the spell. Save the paladin that lay before you, he is your priority. I promise a chance for revenge very soon! For now... The Banshee Queen's face is frozen in rage as her spell backfires, thanks to Darced's spell. Just get her out of the way. The death knight's sword bursts with fire, igniting his own blade and Ian's with an inferno of flames. Go my champions, we must stop Sargeras before it is too late!

The ghost watches his armies and peers into his many souls of whom he sheppards. She and the death knights will be useful for the true battle that is yet to come.

Lethean rose, the flames burning ferociously along Shadowfrost's length, and nodded, though he was unsure if Darced could actually see the movement. "It will be as you command it, my lord."
He turned and, without even barely glancing back at the Banshee Queen stated, "This is not over between you and I, Sylvanas Windrunner. Rest assured, when my business here has been finished, I will return, and we will end this farce once and for all. But beware... the spirit of Lord Darced the Damncaller watches over his subjects!" Forgetting her Lethean charged towards where Ian was swiftly making a recovery from Sylvanas's time-warp arrows - something Lethean knew their own dark archers to be experimenting with. It seems Sylvanas has managed to become successful, he thought ominously, but then made a clear effort to shake those thoughts from his mind as he approached Tirion Fordring, who was still unconscious and bleeding. Ian had managed to eliminate most of the deathguard that had been attempting to take the highlord's body away, and the few that were left were swiftly cut down by Shadowfrost's blazing edge.
Sheathing his runeblade, Lethean knelt beside the highlord. He checked the paladin's pulse and, upon finding that it was still quite strong - much to the Scourgelord's surprise - he inspected Fordring's wound. A deadly shot, he thought, tracing a plated finger along the edge of the vicious wound. Sylvanas was a master archer, as she had clearly stated during their fight though Lethean knew that fact years before anyhow. She had aimed to kill, not maim, and had nearly succeeded.
"Ian," he called, hoping his acolyte was in adequate shape to preform sufficiently. "Get over here, now." Lord Darced was indeed correct, it would seem, Lethean thought, tearing away a large piece of the paladin's cape. He carefully wrapped it around the wound, hoping the highlord's resistance would persevere. Once they had gotten Fordring to safety, Lethean would see to it that the highlord's wounds were properly dressed and taken care of. The Scourge and the Cult of the Damned were mostly composed of warlocks and other dark, mischevious spellcasters, but almost all of them were skilled in the arts of first-aid; some were even priests, Lethean had found during his travels.
He called a deathcharger to him and bent down, scooping up the heavy burden in his arms. Tossing Fordring on to the saddle, he noticed an enraged Sylvanas attempting to maneuver around to him. Lethean smirked and tied Fordring down to the saddle, then hoisted his own weight up and on to the dark warhorse. He waited patiently for Ian, satisfied with how things had gone. Sylvanas and Morgraine may still walk Azeroth, and Tyr's Hand may or may not fall, but we have the one whom we needed most... and a very pissed off banshee.

The burst of flames caught Ian off guard but he seized the moment, and help the pale rider Lethean dispatch the rest of the Deathguard. The flames crackled and snapped as they sliced through Forsaken after Forsaken. The mace blow Ian received earlier was starting to catch up with him, as he began to feel sluggish but just a minor annoyance at the moment.

Ian heeded the call of Lethean and approached the Fordring, his wound seemed a lot worse up close. He judged the situation, and knowing the severity of importance that Fordring would play in tLord Darced plot they needed to get out of here. Ian followed suit and summoned his death charger,"The Banshee Queen will soon come for us, we best depart."

The Forsaken were soon freed by the spell and Sylvanas screamed. "Noooooo!!!" The alchemists and archers begin to mount skeletal horses nearby. The Banshee Queen calls her mount and sheathes her bow. "Go my Forsaken! Don't let them get away!" The undead ride after Lethean, trampling Darced's corpse. His spirit shakes violently, One last thing must be done. I must... The Forsaken riders race past the death knight lines and Sylvanas motions to Mograine, "They're getting away!" Go once more my soldiers. Protect Lethean! The Scourge rush off to engage the riders and the Banshee Queen watches in horror as her soldiers are swarmed by Scourge. "Idiots!!!" She rushes off around the ranks with death knights behind her. "Take Lethean down! The paladin must not fall into his hands!"

Mograine nods towards his knights to pursue the Scourge. "Go, I have a deed that needs to be done first." He runs back toward Darced's body and reaches it within moments. It has been badly trampled and Mograine grasps the skull. He holds the lich before his helm and grunts, "I know Kel'Thuzad's tricks lich. I will not make the same mistake again."

As Lethean rode off, a final whisper came to his mind. Fordring must be brought to Tyr's Hand; he will know what to do. There is a pause and the sound of trembling, It seems my friend. My time is over... Another pause, After the paladin concludes his business at Tyr's Hand you must lead our people to the Storm Peaks. There... this world will rise, or fall. Good luck my champion. The sound of a crash could be heard within the whisper, [I]May the Lich King guide you.[/I] The whisper trails off and Lethean is left to his mission. He must bring the Scourge to Tyr's Hand, and secure Fordring as he completes his mission. Stopping the Dark Titan.

Mograine walks away as he sets Darced's bones ablaze. He quickly approaches his death-charger and mounts it. It screeches as he rides away towards Tyr's Hand. Farewell, Darced the Damncaller

Lethean, Scourgelord, champion of Darced the Damncaller and now commander of the entirety of the Scourge remnants on Azeroth, pushed his deathcharger as hard as he could towards Tyr's Hand, his current task to carry out his lord's final command.I will not fail you, my lord, Scourgelord Lethean thought. He had heard the name "Pale Rider" murmured among some of the death knights - now under his full command - and had even heard Ian acknowledge the name once. The death knight had lived a long, troubled life, yet it had been full of animosities as well as joy. He remembered finally becoming a ranger of Silvermoon, and the fierce pride with which he had assisted in defending his homeland against the original Scourge, led by Arthas Menethil himself. After surviving such a horror, he had decided, once the Blood Knights had been formed, that the path of the Light was one he had to take in order to exact revenge against those that had torn apart his home and slaughtered his family. Shortly after, however, he had been slain by a vengeful Amani troll named Zak'kharzu, his corpse left to rot in the Ghostlands. He had learned, after being resurrected as a death knight under the Lich King's command, that his body had been retrieved by members of the Cult of the Damned, as well as those of the contigent of Blood Knights he'd been leading at the time, and handed over to Arthas. There, at Acherus, he had fought unwillingly for the Lich King, and during the battle at Light's Hope, had met Neyira. The night elf, like him, served loyally if unwillingly, until they'd broken free. Though they were both cold, heartless and, most importantly, dead and lost souls, they had bonded swiftly and became good friends, watching each others' backs always. Now, just a short while ago, they had fought for the last time together against the very being Lethean had served only moments ago. He did not know what had happened to Neyira after they had retreated in to Tyr's Hand, but he suspected he was going to soon discover it.If things had been different, I would have been amongst the Crusade during this time of strife... The thought trailed through the Scourgelord's mind before he banished it. Such thoughts and things no longer concerned him. He was the leader of the Scourge forces now. He served the new Lich King, Bolvar Fordragon, as faithfully as he was willingly.
"Onward my minions - my loyal servants!" Lethean cried. "We ride to Tyr's Hand!" Lethean turned his head towards Ian, who rode just as swiftly on his right. "Acolyte, you are my second-in-command. From now on, you shall be named Scourge Commander Ian Black. Wear the name under the will of the Lich King, my servant." Behind him rode a contigent of death knights of mixed races and pasts, and yet all served regardless of such. "I now hand you the reigns of command, my servant. These last death knights are your soldiers. Direct them in the name of the Lich King, for our next and final task of this farce is going to be much more difficult than before. We are to bring our forces to the Hand, and above all, we must protect Tirion Fordring. Our goal is to stop the Dark Titan, and Fordring will assist us in doing so."
Much more difficult indeed, the Scourgelord thought as he pressed his deathcharger all the harder.

"Emberfire! To me!"
Velirra's faithful companion dropped to ground-level, directly in front of the huntress. Swiftly sheathing her bow, Velirra hopped in to the saddle and took hold of the dragonhawk's reins. Tugging them more harshly than she'd intended, she pulled Emberfire up in to the dark, blood-red skies, her sharp emerald eyes picking out her targets amongst the hordes of Scourge.
After hearing the proclamation uttered by the one death knight whom she'd heard mentioned in the Crusaders' conversations, Velirra knew her hunt for her prey would have to wait. A Dark Titan was on the loose, Highlord Fordring was in the hands of Lethean Darkfury, now apparently leader of the Scourge after Darced's death, and Tyr's Hand was being overrun by Scourge forces. She quickly spotted a group of what seemed to be adventurers and mercenaries, and headed in that direction. As Emberfire dropped near them, she noticed a human armed with numerous weapons, guns included, a forsaken who appeared to be an alchemist of sorts, albeit transformed, and of course, the Banshee Queen and Darion Morgraine.
Bringing Emberfire down, Velirra hopped from the saddle and landed silently amidst them. "Greetings, friends," she said, her musical tones cautious. Let's hope they don't mind another tagging along.